


Wisconsin Night Oversight

by Desired_Misery



Series: The Restoration of New York [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: ... he won't be, Angst, Aurors take care of each other, Gellert Grindelwald is a step ahead of everyone, Graves is a major point of interest to everyone at MACUSA, Graves.... well, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Deaths, Percival Graves swears a lot, Pre-Canon, Tina is okay at the end, Tina likes working with her boss, Workaholic Original Percival Graves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-11-30 00:52:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11452584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Desired_Misery/pseuds/Desired_Misery
Summary: It's a boring Friday night in the office catching up on paperwork but Tina might as well take advantage of Graves' invitation to join him on a call (not only because he's giving her a waiver on her forms). The director is a private man, but Tina likes him anyways. He's a fair teacher, a good boss, and a better wizard. A chance to join him on a one-on-one response call is rare, especially for one of the newer additions to the federal Auror team.Grindelwald wasn't supposed to be anywhere but terrorizing Europe- not in North Wisconson, waiting among dead Aurors and his own supporters.Tina grabs his arm, part of her brain cataloging his nice white dress shirt absorbs blood well. It is on his cuffs and creeps up the sleeves. The director is in bad shape. Crimson trails from his ears and nose. The seconds it takes for his eyes to find her’s are too long-“Graves, he was here-” Tina needs to tell him, grip tight on his wrist to try and feel her numb fingers through stubborn determination. “Grindelwald- he was here!”





	1. Thoughts on the Director

**Author's Note:**

> Set up for the fall.

\-- I --

The Director of Magical Security, Percival Graves, is not the type of man Tina was comfortable with making small talk in any sort of circumstance.

 

Tina is confident she could be in the force for twenty years and still jump when he calls her name. As it stands, she’s been an Auror for six years, serving two of those years at the federal level with Graves as her boss. Anyone would think two years would be enough to know someone. It usually would be, but for Graves, isn’t enough to get the full story.

  
He isn’t mean- that isn’t the issue. People like to judge the director at surface level, taking his professionalism as coldness, his politeness as disdain. Percival Graves is genuine in his behavior- a proper, well-bred gentleman who is rather quiet and keeps to himself. No one who knows Graves well likes to think of the director as quiet. You can’t, not when he barks out commands with perfect ease in the middle of a duel or an investigation. Not when he runs Congress ragged with unfailing determination and a razor-sharp mind. But he is quiet, Tina decided a few months in as a federal Auror. He never talks about his personal life, never once joins the rest of the Aurors in after work celebrations or drinks.  
  
No one can get Graves to drop his veneer of professionalism. It isn’t a bad character trait if you aren’t looking for a friend in the Director of Magical Security. He is damn good at his job- competence is his greatest virtue. Tina appreciates that he holds his Aurors to a high standard of performance: no laziness, no lying, no cheating, while always trying to do their best work. At it always is, those who complain about Graves’ expectations are the ones who do not meet them.  
  
False statements, all of it. Tina believed them when she first was transferred (promoted) and she was told of many tips to keep Graves’ attention off of her. Keep your head down, do your work, and don’t make a mistake- especially not when the director was near. Tina was terrified of bringing her boss’ wrath upon her. Back as a local Auror for New York City, she had layers of command. Sergeant Auror Williamson of NYC, the Auror Chief of New York, then the Captain of Aurors Carneirus, Chief Auror Limus, and then Director Percival Graves at the top. Graves’ team answers directly to him and works in tandem with the Department of Major Investigations. There is no buffer of forgiveness between Tina and her boss.  
  
But Tina learns Graves is much more forgiving than any rumor gave him credit. When she didn’t think to check for anything in the top corner of the warehouse they use for mock-duels and her partner “died” from her oversight, she had whipped around in absolute horror when Graves was the one to emerge from behind the enchanted one-way mirror. He had taken one look at her and his mouth had twisted (at the time Tina didn’t know Graves made that expression when he tries not to smile). “Mercy Lewis, Goldstein. I’m not going to hex you.”   
  
He was patient in coaching all the Aurors to be better and believed a mistake made in practice was better than one out in the field. “I doubt this will happen again, will it?”  
“No sir,” Tina had stammered, relieved. And that was it. She expected an explosion of temper, snarled criticism… anything, really. Not the firm patience with which Graves instructed her, reminding her how to approach a room of this size with so few Aurors. He worked with them on their strengths and weaknesses, trying to balance the three shifts and response teams so they had each other’s backs. While his criticism was honest, it was never cruel or unjust. Graves pushed them all to acknowledge their own weaknesses to try and counterbalance what was instinctive. Not all weaknesses were something that could be fixed through repetitive training. Tina would not ever be a good interrogator- she’s too blunt and too open to hid her true intent behind innocent questions. But her honesty was appreciated by many.  
  
They had sessions lead by Graves himself, an all day exercise intended to increase the federal Aurors’ efficiency and skills. One time focused on casting patronuses, another was dealing with worst fears. He joined them in it, which humanized the director to the rest. But it created more questions than answers.  
  
His patronus is a large wampus. It makes the present Aurors green with envy to see such a regal, powerful magical creature. Although, the surprise of seeing a very rare Patronus was ruined by Auror Morgan muttering, sarcastically, “Of course it's a wampus, sir” loud enough for them all to hear in the sudden, stunned silence.  
  
It is the closest they see Graves to an emotion resembling embarrassment. He dips his head, a hand rubbing the short hair at the base of his skull.  
  
“Yes, it is … conspicuous.” He says, letting the silver big cat fade into nothing. “Usually I send it off as mist. It's less obvious that way.”  
  
His reasoning makes sense, although Tina spots other scowls among the Aurors. They had only seen his patronus as silver mist and thus, they all assumed the director was unable to cast a corporeal one. It's another rumored shortcoming proven wrong and like petulant children, it annoys them.  
  
His darkest fear: the death of two children, a young girl, and a younger boy. But when pressed on their identities, Graves’ gaze was cold enough to freeze. There is no way they are his children. Someone else’s, then. Tina does not engage in that kind of gossip. Not when the director made it clear he would not talk about them.  
  
“They’re adorable, sir.” Clara had offered, her genuine smile softening the reflexive glare Graves threw her way. (Auror Hathaway reminds Tina of Queenie, filled with confidence and kindness and goodwill. Clara is all soft words and no sharp edges until she gets into a fight. She is everyone’s favorite co-worker, always present with a smile, a helping hand, and extra coffee for those who need it).    
  
“Yes, they are.” He concedes after a pause. That is all he says on the matter.  
  
Two years of working under Graves means Tina has learned it a game for the federal Aurors to try and learn as much as possible about him. It is a short list.  
  
Graves works more than he doesn’t. He always works the day shift but alternates between the night shift and the graveyard shift. It is not as common for him to work on the graveyard shift, but once every two weeks he goes home early to rest for the graveyard’s awful hours of one am to nine am.  
  
To make it worse, Graves works sixteen hours every day including weekends and holidays. It was department entertainment every year the President herself had to force Graves out of his office to take a few days off for Christmas.  
  
(“Merlin and Morgana, Percival! Go home for a day. One day for Christmas.” It was an endless source of amusement to hear the President snap out the director’s first name. It meant she was truly annoyed, even borderline furious. What made it funnier was the expression Graves would shoot her way, like she had the gall to even talk to him about time off.  
  
“Criminals won’t stop because it happens to be the 25th of December-”  
  
“I swear to all that is good in this world, I will banish you from your office until New Year’s unless you get out of my sight in two minutes.”  
  
The battle of wills was tested in a staredown that would have melted the other party if it was anyone else. The tension in the room was palpable- but Aurors tried to mask their smiles behind the edge of cups. It wouldn’t have been a surprise if energy crackled off the two of them.  
  
A slight narrowing of the director’s eyes expresses his displeasure.  
  
“Fine,” he growls. “See you tomorrow.”  
  
Picquery’s glare would have burst a phoenix into flames. “If you enter this building a minute before nine in the morning on the twenty-sixth, I will hex you into next week.”  
  
The upward tilt of the director’s chin was usually a sign he was prepared to fight. He held Picquery’s gaze for a half-minute of silence.  
  
“Nine sharp, Madam President.”  
  
The President’s expression softened. The Aurors present swore up and down there was a hint of a small smile on her lips.   
  
“Merry Christmas, Percival.”  
  
He was already stalking away, a hand raised carelessly in acknowledgment.)  
  
The Director took his coffee black, occasionally with two sugars, although none of them can figure how why he doesn’t add sugar all the time. He always carries a spare pen in his jacket or his coat. Graves will complete the needed paperwork for any of his Aurors injured in the line of duty. He covers shifts for family emergencies and special celebrations. He does not allow them to celebrate his birthday (May 31st) but he tolerates subtle gifts of food.  
  
As a Graves, he has access to family wealth, property, and influence.  Very few wizards in America have Graves' status as a pureblood American wizard. The New York Ghost likes to grumble about Graves’ pay, thinking it is outrageously high. His salary as Director is reasonable when Tina considers how much he does for MACUSA. If he works enough for two, he might as well get paid double than the rest of them.  
  
Graves served in the Great War for a year. It doesn’t seem to have affected him like the no-majs Tina sees slumped in alleys with ghosts locked in their eyes. Yet, he seems to have picked up a habit of using no-maj swears. (It is always amusing to hear him mix them into crude and effective phrases. Tina’s favorite is “ _Merlin’s fucking beard!_ ”, usually hissed under the director’s breath when a raid isn’t going as planned).   
  
His wand is an imposing ebony black with a silver inlaid ring, fifteen inches in length and a rumored White River Monster spine core. Graves rarely uses it inside of the Woolworth building, choosing instead to cast spells with wandless magic. The direct descendants of Gondulphus Graves were always associated with nonverbal magic, but Percival Graves has exceeded unbelievable expectations his whole life. The director is considered to be one of the most talented wizards of their time- the most powerful wizard on this side of the Atlantic if you believed the whispered praises of his dueling skills in non-verbal and wandless magic.   
  
As far as anyone could tell, Graves’ only friend is Seraphina Picquery, the current president of MACUSA. Which is a terrifying partnership on all counts. It concerned many at MACUSA- Congress especially- that the two most powerful positions were filled by a wizard and a witch who have known each other since their Ilvermorny days.  
  
Picquery is another figure of authority in MACUSA, her tendency to speak her mind and her intelligence making her a very striking companion to the director. Her magical talents are nothing impressive, but her ability to navigate political waters works well in compliment to Graves’ despisement for too much politicking. Tina wonders what they were like in Ilvermorny. Graves, with the distinction of being a direct descendant of the Original Twelve and being picked by two houses, while Picquery was honored by being chosen by all. Both are reserved and intolerant of laziness and incompetence.  
  
It is an ever-present piece of gossip that the two of them are together or married, but Tina knows better. They are friends. Friends who pretend to be cross with each other, fake irritation and despisement, but show up together to mandated social events with glittering eyes and sly smiles. The rare times any of the Aurors see Graves manage a smile is usually around the same time Picquery tries to mask one. Usually, it was when they leaned their heads together, no doubt sharing a joke about those present at the social event.  
  
It was easier if they would hide their friendship. Both are in influential positions, each earned through hard work and determination. To publicly acknowledge that the President of MACUSA and the Director of Magical Security are good friends would undermine the separation of powers MACUSA tried to maintain.  
  
(And it made them both much more terrifying, knowing Picquery and Graves were on the same page). Tina likes to imagine some of the many private meetings the president has with her boss are actually just formal loopholes to allow the two of them to talk. Merlin knows if Graves has time to do much more than sleep when he’s not working.

 

  
  
Now you know all that, you understand why Tina was not at all ever prepared to make small talk with her boss.


	2. Small Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detail-oriented is a good description of Percival Graves.

\-- II --

“Staying late, Goldstein?” Came the inquiry, startling Tina awake better than the cup of coffee she pours. She would have spilled some of it, too, if Graves hadn’t lifted a hand and redirected the liquid to remain in her mug.   
  
The Director of Magical Security studies her with eyes so dark brown they are black against the navy of his suit. Absent is the billowing cloak that he wears for the colder half of the year, the lack of it personal. Tina tears her eyes away from the loose tie around her boss’ neck- nothing is ever out of place, so to see evidence that he has relaxed for the evening approaches scandalous.    
  
“Uh, yes sir. I have some paperwork to finish up before I head home.” She says, cheeks flushed from almost spilling coffee over the counter. Tina steadies her hand and finishes pouring the coffee before she does something else embarrassing in front of him. The director has an unfortunate aura around him that makes everyone else feel incompetent by being near him.   
  
Graves glances at the watch on his left wrist- it catches Tina’s attention as always. Few men wear wristwatches, but it must be a leftover habit from the Great War. She heard that no-maj soldiers were required to know the correct time. Like the rest of him, the watch is expensive, sleek, and fits in with his usual colors of black and silver.   
  
“It isn’t too late for coffee?” Graves’ voice rumbles, soft. Tina does not point out the irony of his statement; the director going home at a reasonable hour is as rare as an eclipse. The bullpen is close to abandoned on a Friday night, with a few of the day shift Aurors finishing up for the weekend. The night shift spends most of their time patrolling their districts. Only a handful stay to manage paperwork and the desk part of the job.   
  
Tina winces, but scoops a spoonful of sugar into her coffee and adds a dash of milk. “I’m a bit behind on my paperwork.” She knows it is already eight in the evening. She sent a paper mouse Queenie’s way around four thirty to warn her sister that she had some catching up to do.   
  
The director frowns. “The senior Aurors aren’t still saddling you with their paperwork, are they? Because I will have a talk with them-”   
  
“Oh no, sir.” Tina jumps in as politely as she can, meeting his gaze with a quick, small smile. She’s seen him dish out punishment to Aurors taking advantage of the junior members of the team. Even though she is no longer a Junior, Tina has to be careful to watch out for seasoned Aurors trying to hassle her. To the director, there is a fine line between sharing the workload and causing an unnecessary burden to the junior Aurors. He is not tolerant of the latter.    
  
“It was my sister’s birthday on Wednesday and I got behind, that’s all.” She picks up her coffee and takes half a step away from the counter to allow her boss to grab whatever he needs.   
  
Tina watches him prepare his coffee. Maybe he drinks it black so he can stay awake better?   
  
“Queenie, isn’t it?” He says after a thoughtful moment.    
  
What does startle her, however, is that he remembers her sister’s name. She is a respected Auror. Tina does not jump in surprise.    
  
“Um…” She flounders, blush appearing anew. “Yes.”   
  
The corner of Graves’ mouth twitches when he turns back to face her, taking a drink of his own coffee. Combined with the subtle crinkle around his eyes, Tina guesses that her boss is amused by her reaction. No wonder Graves intimidates people if he has a memory like that. Tina has only mentioned her sister a few times among her coworkers, and certainly not to the director’s face. Her file has Queenie listed as next of kin in case something happens to her- still, for Graves to keep tabs on his Aurors like that… Tina is both flattered and concerned.   
  
“Don’t stay too late…” He trails off, focusing on something over her shoulder. Tina turns, then steps out of the way of the canine patronus that seeks out Graves. The bloodhound’s silver eyes find the director’s as an unfamiliar voice carries in the lonely bullpen.   
  
“Director Graves, this is Auror Pearson of the North Central Division. Requesting your presence to assess the situation in a small town located in Wisconsin. All is under control. Current danger level is estimated to be minimal. We have apprehended three suspects which we believe to be supporters of Grindelwald. The Central Auror Office will direct you to the proper location if you wish to be part of the interrogation and investigation process.”    
  
When the formal message ends, the bloodhound fades into a mist and dissipates along the floorboards. Graves sighs, putting his now abandoned mug of coffee back on the counter. A quick flick of his fingers straightens his tie.   
  
“I’m behind in my paperwork, too, but would you like to come?” He offers with a slight twitch of his lips at his confession. “You can finish it over the weekend.”   
  
Tina jumps at the offer. The call was more clean up than anything else. All the action was already over, but she would love to be able to spend some time with her boss in the field. Graves almost never attends calls with one Auror. Either he goes alone to meet another team already on the scene or he brings his own.   
  
(Besides, who in Merlin's beard would she be to say 'no, thanks'? It's a great opportunity for a young Auror like herself.)   
  
  
  
  
  
It should have been a standard call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day because I felt there wasn't enough going on in the first. Expect the next chapter to go up tomorrow!


	3. Bleeding Crimson on White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Head injuries are nothing to scoff at.

\-- III --

Agony drags her back into the world.  
  
The immediate wave of pain, nausea, and confusion sickens Tina. Her fingers dig into wet grass and dirt, grounding her as the Wisconsin night swims. _A flash of-_  
  
_An explosion._  
  
_A bruising grip on her arm, then white-_ grogginess that is too heavy to be natural. She was stunned. _A pale sneering face-_  
  
Grindelwald.  
  
Tina forces herself to her knees-  
  
A dead woman lies next to her. Glassy eyes staring up at the stars. An Auror. Brown trench coat ruined. Slack muscles. Wand on the wet grass beside her limp hand. The sight of painted nails chipped and oozing blood punches the air from Tina’s lungs.  
  
Making herself look around, she spots a figure kneeling at the base of an old stone wall.  
  
Graves.  
  
His suit jacket is gone. Dark splotches spread over his back through the navy waistcoat. Tina shouts for his attention, but her voice is faint over the constant buzzing. Standing is impossible. Her ears must have been damaged.  
  
She crawls over to him, wand clutched in unfeeling fingers. Her body protests, but nothing hurts like she broke anything. _A surprised shout right near her-_ Graves must have absorbed some of the attack.  
  
The director is holding the limp form of another Auror- a young man who chokes on blood. The healing magic Graves gives off isn’t enough. Blood soaks the ground, highlights the unnatural contortion of the Auror’s body-  
  
Graves knows the Auror is dying, for he placed his suit jacket over the young man’s chest to keep him from seeing the injuries. He must have hit the wall, unyielding stone shattering bones. Tina only stares as- _he’s barely a man, must be a junior Auror_ \- the Auror enters his death throes. The final push of magic, a calming aura that brushes over Tina, too, is shaky but fulfills its purpose. The unnamed Auror dies with a shuddering sigh.  
  
Graves doubles over the body-  
  
Tina grabs his arm, part of her brain cataloging his nice white dress shirt absorbs blood well. It is on his cuffs and creeps up the sleeves. The director is in bad shape. Crimson trails from his ears and nose. The seconds it takes for his eyes to find her’s are too long-  
  
“Graves, he was here-” Tina needs to tell him, grip tight on his wrist to try and feel her numb fingers through stubborn determination. “Grindelwald- he was here!”  
  
Dark eyes stare through her, blank and uncomprehending. Tina’s gaze jumps back to the blood trickling from Graves’ ears, her mind focuses on her own muted hearing, his awkwardly tilted head. He can’t hear her.  
_  
Damn._  
  
It takes too many attempts for Tina to cast her patronus- the white stallion gallops off after she manages to say her message. The way Graves sways, he’s badly injured. A head injury.  
  
Concussion, at least.  
  
He still has a hand on the young Auror’s chest, the other braced on the ground so he doesn’t crumple. No one else is alive. Tina feels her magic ebb, weak. Tears prick her eyes.  
  
Flashes of what happened-  
  
_Tina trying to get up. Again, from before. Pain, confusion. Mostly confusion. Until she looks into the heterochromatic eyes of Gellert Grindelwald. Fear halts her lungs.  
_  
He could have killed them.  
  
_“Hello, love.” A terrifyingly earnest smile. He raises his wand to point at her, standing up. The dark wizard takes something from the pocket of a body. A stunning spell hits her as Grindelwald disapparates._  
  
He _should_ have killed them.  
  
A headache of monstrous proportions bears down on her, distant because of the adrenaline in her veins and anxious magic hovering around her. A drop of blood falls from Graves’ chin and splatters onto his already ruined jacket covering the Junior Auror.  
  
**Assess the situation.**  
  
Auror training pushes Tina to look around.  
  
The stone wall is in pieces in sections, old and crumbling with moss spreading green blankets over it. A small structure was once protected by the aged stone. The shattered foundation and debris outline the explosion path. Fifteen-yard blast radius at a glance. She, Graves, and the other bodies- everyone else is still, not breathing- are at the edge of the blackened grass. Ash dances in the air. Stars watch from above, menacing in the eerie calm of rural country.  
  
It smells of smoke and the acrid ozone of combative magic.  
  
_Grindelwald didn’t kill them._  
  
Dizzy, she tugs on Graves until he leaves the body. His wand lies next to him. She shoves it into his hand, holding it there until his fingers curl around it. Worry grows as Graves coughs, wet, and almost collapses trying to sit up.  
  
“Sir, stay still.” Her voice croaks, faint but audible over the constant shrill ring in her ears. If Tina is straining at the seams and she’s able to function, Graves must have caught the brunt of it. It would be his style to use his body to shield her from the magical blast.  
  
Annoyed with herself for forgetting Graves can’t hear a thing, she grabs his shoulder and opposite forearm and gently, firmly holds him in place until he stops moving. Tina has always been awful at healing spells, or she’d try to ease the pain causing him to clench his jaw.  
  
Graves’ throat works- he must be trying not to throw up. Tina winces at manhandling him to check for injuries, but her own coordination is not good. Nothing life-threatening besides his clear head injury. Tina urges her wand to cast a brighter light- the director’s immediate recoil tells Tina it’s serious.  
  
Shattering, loud _pops_ of many apparations increases Tina’s headache but soothes the fear scratching through her gut. A set of hands on her shoulders guides her away and to sit on the grass instead of kneeling, echoing Tina’s attempts to steady her boss just minutes before.  
  
“Grindelwald was here. I saw him.” Tina’s voice says without prompting and from far away. “He took something from a body, then disapparated.”  
  
“Alright, Goldstein.” Says the middle-aged witch, one of the few Aurors who greeted the Director and Tina when they arrived. Her smile is tight and strained. Her pale skin eerily reflects the harsh lights cast over the area, reminding Tina of Grindelwald’s horrible face grinning at her- she shivers.  
  
“We're gonna get you home. Hang tight.”  
  
Tina holds onto the Auror’s arm with both hands. The last thing she needs is to get splinched in a side-a-long. A dozen of wand tips glow with the light of the response team. Soon this place will crawl with Aurors.

  
_  
Too late._

_Too late to help._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter is being worked on. I was going to finish it today but then I got sick and took a 6 hr nap. Fun times!


	4. Calculations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Working overtime is never fun.

\-- IV --

Tina throws up.

Apparating to the Central North Office, then taking a portkey to MACUSA headquarters is too much for Tina and her headache. She couldn’t contain the subsequent rise of bile.

Honestly, she’s not the slightest bit embarrassed about it.

Graves almost hits the floor, the Auror who helped him side-a-long realizing nearly too late the director is not in any shape to stand. The crisp cleanliness of the hospital apparition point is immediately ruined by the grime and blood the Aurors bring.

What follows their arrival is a blur of conversation Tina can’t track before she is pulled into a private exam room, her trench coat taken off her-

“Oh,” Tina says.

She and the mediwitch look at the holes in the leather. Her injuries are a surprise- she didn’t feel anything bleed. The potions shoved into her shaking hands are gross and thick, but necessary. The dulling of her mind is worth the ebb of pain.

A wand waved in Tina’s proximity bathes her with the warming sting of healing magic. A crackle in her ears makes her jump. As soon as it is gone her hearing is normal, sounds clear again and the infernal buzzing fades. Her aches and anxiety soon follow.

“ _Teenie!_ ”

Ah, damn.

Queenie’s voice, sharper than usual, carries beautifully well thanks to Tina’s restored hearing. And then her sister is at Tina’s side, getting in the way with sincere apologies but no regret.

“I was so worried! They sent word via patronus and I knew something happened-” Queenie says in a rush, the words spilling from her mouth. She is dressed in the clothes she wore to work today, but her makeup is gone.

Queenie rushed to get here. She must have been waiting at home or was already in bed when she got the message from one of the hospital staff.

Tina winces.  _Sorry_ , she thinks, trying to distract her sister from the muted confusion and shreds of memories whirling around her head. The calming drought is on Tina’s side as Queenie wrinkles her nose, trying to make sense of what she’s picking up.

 _I feel...better._  Tina knows her attempts at comforting Queenie falls flat. Starting at her shredded leather trench coat, Tina hopes the explosion didn’t scrape her too badly. The itching in her back says otherwise. It is unsettling to watch magic coax out the grit embedded in her skin. Floating bits of gravel, dirt, and a few sticks land into a waiting jar.

Right. Evidence.

“Goldsteins.” A warm, deep voice greets the two of them. Noah Valencia stands in the doorway, his imposing height and impressive musculature a reassuring sight. Affectionately referred to as “Team Dad” or simply “Val” by many, Noah is the most reliable and trustworthy of the Aurors after Graves himself. Twenty-four years on the force has proved Val’s talents at mentoring, cross-department communication, investigation, and dueling. (He would have been offered the title as Director long before Graves was a part of MACUSA if he had ambition- each time someone has tried to promote him, Val declines always, insisting he can’t imagine leaving his team).

Val works the night shift. It explains why he’s immaculately put together in a steel blue-grey suit that compliments his dark skin well. It is a tradition for _The New York Ghost_  to choose Val as one of MACUSA’s hottest Aurors (Graves has been on the list every year as well. Noah is the only one in the office who can get away teasing the director about it).

Queenie squints her eyes at Tina, sisterly instincts bristling at another distraction. The mediwitch ignores them besides a little put-upon sigh often associated with the presence of more than one Auror in the same room at any given time.

“Hello, Auror Valencia.” Queenie’s sweet smile is halfhearted at best. A pang of regret and guilt shoots through Tina. She hates it when Queenie frets over her. It isn’t fair to make her worry so much- Queenie snatches Tina’s hand, trying to curb the negative thoughts threatening to spin them both into an upsetting cycle.

“President’s going to be here momentarily. She’s rounding up Major Investigations before she calls a meeting with the International Confederation.” Val informs her, leaning against the door frame.

Tina can  _feel_ Queenie’s gray eyes locking on her.

“How’s Graves?” Tina does  _not_  think about what she’s trying not to think about. Queenie’s concern and irritation are palpable. Her fingers tighten around Tina’s in disapproval.

Val’s shrug is imperceptible.

“Not well, but he’ll be alright in the end.” He casts a critical eye over Tina, ever protective. “At least you’re lucid. The President has to wait for Graves’ verbal report.” His dry tone hints he expects a very short temper from Picquery.

“Tina-” Queenie starts, suspicious and fearful at all the evading truths and allusions as the two Aurors talk in circles around her. Noah’s occlumency must be watertight.

News that Tina’s boss is in a worst state than her doesn’t help the heavy, lead-like guilt building in her chest.

 _Please, not now_. Tina begs Queenie with a glance-

Ouch!” Tina hisses when something  _leaves_  her back. A good sized sliver of stone floats around and lands on the tray with a soft click of metal. Val scowls as he surveys the table, radiating protectiveness as much as Queenie. An attack on one Auror riles up everyone. It is a good sign of community, soothing away Tina’s lingering unease to know people are looking out for her.

“You're going to be asked to give a formal verbal report and any related memories. Then you can go home and rest,” Val continues. “If you're cleared.” He adds with a polite nod to the mediwitch hovering over Tina’s shoulder. The witch mends the marks left by forceful contact with the ground. Tina watches the scrapes on the underneath of her arms turn to bleeding scabs to scars to unmarked skin. She was dragged- but by what?

Picquery chooses that moment to storm in, her intimidating aura no less terrifying than Graves’. Flanking her are two more Aurors with their wands out, pointing at the floor. They station themselves at the door, displacing Val closer to the exam table.

“Auror Goldstein, are you sure you saw him?” Picquery’s stern tone increases the tension in the room as she cuts straight to the crux of the issue. Tina knows for a fact the president does not work in her office at night. Her appearance is as put together as Auror Val’s, but helped along by glamor if she’s already meeting them at the hospital.

The mismatched eyes of Gellert Grindelwald flash across her mind, unbidden-

“Oh!” Queenie gasps, eyes round as saucers.

“Yes, I think so- I don’t think it was an illusion.” Tina tries to remember if she noticed anything off about Grindelwald’s appearance. A good illusion is hard to spot even if Tina looked for it- Tina was in shock and out of sorts.

“It could be fake,” she backtracks after a moment, rubbing her temple. “I can't say for sure.”

The president’s frown causes Tina to shrink. Her nerves are shot. Val turns to face the president square on, a silent gesture of solidarity and support to Tina. Picquery sees right through him but says nothing. She works with Aurors often enough to take anything in stride.

“She was stunned, Madam President.” The mediwitch cuts in, moving to where Tina can see her, tucking her wand into her sleeve. “I’ve done all I can, but Auror Goldstein will need a few days rest.”

“Graves is not in a position to confirm nor deny, either.” Picquery raises her eyes to the ceiling, hissing air between clenched teeth in a rare display of frustration. “And the other Aurors on the scene were killed.”

Queenie’s flinch draws the brief attention of everyone.

 _I’m okay, Queenie! I’m okay!_  Tina thinks, trying to project the artificial calm granted by the potions. She doesn't need to be a mindreader to know Queenie is a few minutes away from crying. Knowing Tina somehow escaped with her life is not reassuring.

“Madam President, it would be a powerful wizard to take the director out. Combined with the Grindelwald supporters that were arrested, it wouldn’t be a stretch for Grindelwald to be there.” Val crosses his arms, shooting an indecipherable look at Queenie, who is pale and shaking.

At Queenie’s insistence, her status as a legilimens has not made it into any paperwork. A few of Tina’s coworkers picked up on her sister’s uncanny ability to sense thoughts, but it is an unspoken rule no one mentions it. Val knows. It is a toss up if Graves knows- he’s never interacted with Queenie, so the chances of him knowing (and thus, Picquery) is slim.

“I am reluctant to start a national panic over the information given by two testimonies not made in sound mind.” Curt tone aside, Picquery has a point. If Grindelwald really has made the jump terrorizing Europe to America, the sudden influx in no-maj hate crimes, panic, and the meddling of the International Confederation is not anything easily waved aside over a mistake. A false report will have repercussions.

“Which is understandable, ma’am, but to be on edge but ready is better than being caught off-guard.” Val counters. It is clear he believes Tina.

Picquery remains silent, mulling over her decision. Her unreadable expression and narrowed eyes remind Tina of a sphinx, puzzling out actions and consequences instead of riddles.

“Auror Goldstein, we will get your statement and collect the attack’s memories. Then you may go home.”

She then turns to Queenie. “Miss Goldstein, if you would please stay to collect any potions and instructions to take care of your sister during her recovery. I’ll have her returned here when we finished.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Queenie bobs her head, golden curls bouncing. Her voice hides the distress written in her shocked and dismayed expression. Tina takes both of Queenie’s hands in hers and squeezes.

_I’m okay, I promise. I’m so sorry._

Reluctant to leave, Queenie flashes Tina an indecipherable look as she trails the mediwitch outside.

“Auror Valencia, if you would escort the elder Goldstein. I’ll go check on the director.” A slight jerk of her head belays her frustration. “We’re also waiting on the preliminary findings of the response teams.” Picquery sweeps out of the room, followed by the two Aurors.

Val offers Tina her arm when she slips off the table- she takes it as a precaution. Walking slower than usual is manageable; Tina only a little bit unsteady on her feet. Sensing this, Val tugs her closer to him, letting her shoulder brush his arm as he places a hand over Tina’s tucked into the crook of his elbow. He leads the way to the Pensieve room, minding Tina’s cautious pace.

“How badly is Graves injured?” Tina whispers, not wanting anyone to overhear her as they walk through MACUSA’s halls. The uptick in activity is subtle as Aurors attempt to set up the framework of an investigation with as much discretion as possible. If word got out the Director of Magical Security was injured fighting Grindelwald, the following chaos would be devastating. Unrelated crime would become harder to manage with so much focus on hunting down Grindelwald and his supporters.

“A fractured skull and broken ribs are the worst of it. The explosion and impact with the ground gave him some kind of brain injury. The healers are confident he’ll make a full recovery within a week.” He murmurs back, nodding to a few of his night shift co-workers. A few gazes linger on the way Tina all but clings to Val, but the Aurors keep their mouths shut. Val has an impressive glare that can rival Graves’ if he puts his mind to it.

Tina takes a deep, ragged breath.

“The president seems pretty spun up about it.” If Grindelwald was here, a week is a long time for Graves to sit out.

Val sighs. “Yeah, Graves is going to have memory and language processing complications for a few hours at least. And that’s after she pressured the healers to give him more than the recommended doses of potions.”

Tina grimaces. No wonder Picquery’s mood is foul. Graves will be equally prickly once he’s feeling better- Tina’s never known her boss to sit quietly during the few times healers tried to put him on medical leave. To Graves, medical leave is sulking in his office while working on the ever-present backlog of paperwork.

They approach the elevator. Red isn’t in yet so Val pushes the button himself then presses the end of his wand into the slot that appears. The pensieve is on the same floor as Records, a private floor with access denied to the general public. Tina’s stomach lurches at the sensation of the elevator dropping. She is rather pleased she doesn’t throw up twice in one day.

“How are you holding up, Goldie?” Val uses his ridiculous nickname for her to lighten up the conversation. Tina appreciates the effort and manages a weak smile, having fought her rebelling stomach into submission.

“I had a calming draught, so I’ll be okay for a while.” She holds up a steady hand for emphasis.

Although calming draughts are one of the more innocuous potions, abuse is prohibited by magical law enforcement. Graves has lectured many Aurors over the dangers a false sense of security gives.  _Too much comfort in a dangerous situation is deadly. You think you’re safe and in control when you aren’t and it costs lives!_ His voice snaps in her head from the awful day they lost an Auror to such a mistake. Tina was a newly minted federal Auror, barely two weeks on the federal force when it happened.

“You’ll be back in your own bed by then if I get a say. I think your sister and I can get you out of here within an hour.” He mutters the last part to himself.

Val pulls open the door to Major Investigation’s pensieve. True to its purpose, the room is a perfect setting to think in private. It is a circular room with a high vaulted ceiling, soft lighting playing off walls enchanted to appear like an artistic rendering of the night sky. The blues shift from a dark aqua to an indigo. Clouds and stars spread across the walls in a glittering gold. In the center of the room is the pensieve, as old as MACUSA itself. Built into the pensieve’s stand is a rack filled with small glass bottles for the memories and formal labels and tags for filing purposes.

Five private rooms are hidden at every sixty degrees (the sixth is the entrance), denoted by the golden marker on the matte black stone. None of the doorways are present, meaning the rooms are empty. Val conjures a chair for Tina right next to the pensieve.

She likes this room. A soft background of white noise convinces the mind to let go of the little things. The rolling smoke surface of the pensieve is enthralling. The water is silver, but no memories dance in the depths. Since many people use the same pensive, leaving memories and thoughts in it is considered rude.

“Okay, Tina,” Val says, gentle. “You and Graves took a portkey to the Central North Office. Walk me through what happened.”

Tina nods. She closes her eyes-

_Portkeys always make Tina stumble, but Graves’ hand ghosts over her shoulder to steady her. A narrow, tall Auror with silver-white hair and a friendly wrinkled face greets them._

“We arrived at the office, two Aurors greeted us. One of them was the same one who apparated me back.”

_Tina exchanged pleasantries with the pale witch wearing dark red lipstick as Graves studied the map where a flashing dot indicates the location of the arrest. They were there maybe two minutes before Graves offers his arm to her again._

“You arrived at the scene. What did you notice first?” Val prompts. Tina keeps her eyes clenched shut, but imagines the senior Auror looking at the memories she casts into the pensieve.

_The house, outlined by the moonlight- then the body lying on its back a few yards in front of her._

_Graves shouts, twisting his hold to grab her arm hard enough to leave a bruise. Because Tina is in the middle of drawing her wand, she has no free hand to brace her fall when Graves kicks her feet out under her-_

_He guides Tina’s fall none too carefully, his wand pointed at the figure she missed- a final shove sends Tina flat on her back._

_“_ **_Protego!_ ** _” Graves’ voice cracks, thunderous. But a roar drowns him out- an explosive blast of light bursts from the attacker-_

_Graves’ shield shatters likes glass-_

“Tina.”

A hand landing on her shoulder startles her out of the memory. She opens her eyes to watch the moment replay through the pensieve.

“He shoved me so I wouldn’t fall.” Tina realizes, dazed. “So the explosion wouldn’t throw me.” It is why she has scrapes from being pushed by the explosion but Graves has impact-related injuries. The spell couldn’t pick her up and slam her against the environment like what happened to the Junior. She shivers, imagining her body contorted, bone shards sticking out like monstrous teeth.

The director saved her life.

Val’s expression is neutral. He doesn’t have anything to say. Graves took a precious second to protect Tina, costing him time to save his own skin.  _He’ll be fine_ , Tina reminds herself.

Just a little more.

_She groans and curls on her side. Opens her eyes to see the wizard standing near her- one brown eye and one pale blue, pale skin and spiked hair styled in an undercut._

Her memories are in pieces.

_Her vision is blurry- she sees a figure kneeling-_

“Graves was over there. Where Grindelwald was just then. What was he doing?” murmurs Tina, distracted.

_“Hello, love.” He tilts his head, reminding her of a bird of prey pinning her under his uneven gaze. Tina can’t breathe- she eyes his wand. Something is wrong with his wand, but she can’t think of it now._

_Then she collapses, stunned-_

“That looks like Gellert Grindelwald to me.” Val lets out a long sigh, scrubbing his face with his hands. Tina knows MACUSA needed confirmation- not because they doubted her, but because no one wants to say the official words that Gellert Grindelwald has now become an international criminal. The natural border of the Atlantic was only a formality, but one the dark wizard seemed to abide by until tonight.

The rest of the memories she drops into the pensieve fill in the space between getting stunned and the arrival of the other Aurors. Val’s praise on sending her patronus to the North Central Office instead of main headquarters to save time has no effect. She feels drained and numb. Doing what was right shouldn’t deserve praise- not in the wake of the Aurors they lost.

In neat and careful handwriting, Val labels each bottle of memories. He organizes them in chronological order. Tina watches the golden stars on the walls inch along the dotted lines denoting their paths across the night sky.

All too soon and all too slowly, they finish. When Tina stands up, the older Auror hugs her, arms wrapping around her in a tight embrace. Suppressed tears spring up. She presses her face into his shoulder, hiding in the scent of cypress and wintergreen cologne.

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Val’s voice rumbles. Tina feels it as much as she hears it. “You’ll be okay.” The shock, hidden by the calming draught, can only stay buried for so long. Tina is no stranger to the emotional mess after stressful calls- she accepts his attempts at comforting her. Aurors trying to hide perceived weakness end up corned by well-meaning friends and dragged off to calm down or vent.

The walk back to Queenie passes quickly.

Her sister stands in the waiting room, Tina’s repaired trench coat thrown over Queenie’s arm and Tina’s fedora clutched in curled fingers. Tina didn’t notice her hat was missing. From her other arm hangs a bag filled by Tina’s potions.

Tina gives Val a small hug as a goodbye, whispering a heartfelt “thank you.” Queenie echoes her, more composed than she was when Tina last saw her. Concern is etched into the lines around her pinched mouth, but they can talk at home.

“I’ll send a pigeon your way as soon as the report is filed. In the meantime, take the weekend off.” The older Auror glances down the hall to where Graves must be. His night is only starting, even though the clock struck eleven a quarter of an hour ago. Not for the first time, Tina is glad she doesn’t have a high ranking position. How could Graves deal with this? Battle exhaustion and then meetings afterward?

“That’s his job, Teenie.” Queenie pairs her comment with a soft, watery smile. “I’ve got dinner waiting at home.”

Val waves them off. “I mean it, Goldstein. Take a break. You’ll be first to know of any developments.”

First to know after he’s cleared to release information approved by Major Investigations and Congress, but Tina knows what he’s getting at. She dips her head in acknowledgment.

Queenie is oddly silent as they make their way to the hospital apparation point. Uncomfortable, Tina breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry, Queenie. Really, I am. I had no idea-” Tina starts, knowing at some point they’re going to talk about it. Might as well be now.

“Tina, I know. It’s you’re job.” She echoes her earlier statements, turning to look up at Tina. The unspoken addition of  _but I don’t have to like it_ is implied. The sisters have hashed and rehashed this conversation numerous times until it becomes less of an attack on Tina’s dangerous career choices and more of a reminder to be careful. Queenie knows how much Tina loves working as an Auror. (Tina usually counters the argument with the age-old insistence that Queenie is worth much more than a pretty face who gets coffee for the offices on the lower floors.)

 _I know it’s my job, but it doesn’t mean I want to chase down Grindelwald._ Tina adds after all that filters through her mind. The undercurrent of guilt will be present for a while, as it always is when Tina gets hurt and Queenie has to get another message from the hospital.

“I hope not, or I’ll ground you, Teenie.” Queenie retorts, offended.

The corner of Tina’s mouth pulls up, and Queenie mimics her. They’ll be okay. Nothing a good night’s rest, dinner, and time can’t fix.

“And some hot cocoa,” Queenie reminds her before they apparate home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to make my deadline of uploading every day but then my computer froze as I was checking the final grammar on this chapter >:)
> 
> Anyways, this is more the length of chapters I prefer to write. I decided to add a very short 5th chapter to hint at Graves' fate.
> 
> [You can fight me on two points: Noah Valencia is called “Team Dad.” I looked up the timeline and history for the word ‘Dad’. It was definitely used- although uncommon- in the 1920s. And, Noah Valencia looks like Idris Elba.]


	5. Exploitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Language, Percival.

\-- V --

Percival stumbles into his occupied apartment close to three in the morning. Hurt, exhausted, and grim, he kicks off his shoes as he undoes his tie. The shoes land in a haphazard pile at the base of his coffee table. The tie lands on the arm of the couch.

The enchanted bag of potions clinks when Percival sets it down. He shrugs out of his jacket, swears under his breath as his hands shake trying to undo the buttons on his waistcoat, and tosses his clothes on the other chair. Leaning over to pull off his socks blacks out his vision for a few moments until his heart catches up with the change in gravity.

Percival’s attempt to check the time results in the watch face swirling as his brain can’t focus on the small numbers in the dim light. Anything brighter than the moonlight streaming through the curtains will herald the migraine he’s been fighting for the past few hours.

“Fuck it,” he mutters and fishes around in the bag for one of the few pain relieving potions medical gave him. Percival isn’t going to wait out a splitting headache and lingering pain in his chest because of a _recommendation_. Technically, he was instructed to avoid sleeping potions and he _is_ \- sort of.

Moving from the couch to his bed is too much effort after such a spectacularly shitty night. The potion tastes like nothing- Percival’s mood darkens at another hint of his faulty brain. It probably will be a week until he is back to normal.

The effects hit him quickly, blanketing him in a haze of warmth and the needed absence of pain. Percival lies down, then blinks. His wand is still in his waistcoat. He eyes it, debating if he even has the strength and balance to get it without cracking his head back open on his furniture.

Not expecting anything to happen, Percival lifts a hand and wills his wand over to him. Nothing. His magic was depleted in the unfortunate combination of trying to block a powerful exploding spell, serious injury, and the absurd cocktail of potions medical forced him to consume.

“Fuck you, too.” He snarls into a pillow. It doesn’t matter. Sera doesn’t want him back until next Monday, anyways. If anyone sends him an owl or a pigeon it’ll have to wait for when Percival is willing to be conscious again.

Sleep claims him.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

 

 

 

A hand crushes his throat as a wand digs into his temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for now! I have another fic (Captain America) that I still am writing, so I'll jump back and forth between that fic and this series.
> 
> Poor Percy :c at his most vulnerable (but he thought he was safe). Grindelwald is a son of a bitch, attacking a man in his own home.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a series planned out, but I want to know if there is interest. Comments and kudos let me know you liked it! Or if you have questions/critiques, I'd love to hear them~
> 
> (I usually write super long chapters but this is some pre-series scaffolding for later c: )


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